A Mournful Episode
by TheGreySpecies
Summary: <html><head></head>Ginny, with sheer determination, seeks to comfort a mourning figure, a criminal who had successfully stolen her heart. - Set after Sirius's death. H/G. Oneshot</html>


**A Mournful Episode: One shot**

**Disclaimer: **Parry Hotter is not mine. I indulge in the cold. ;)

Hi. Dis is sad.

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><p>"Very well, Miss Weasley, you're dismissed. You'll be ready to join your classmates by sunrise next morning," Madam Pomfrey stated austerely, adjusting the sheets of the bed firmly, "However, I do strongly encourage a full night's rest by my standards. Now off you go."<p>

Ginny Weasley nodded obediently in response. She cast an acute glance towards the other occupants of the room, smiled weakly, and swept out, impervious to her brother's request for excess food and Hermione's scrutinizing gaze. She felt exotically meek, aloof, and anguished, vacant from her characteristically ardent enthusiasm.

After all, the bleak atmosphere of the week augmented her alternate perspective towards life. She was no longer the naïve, spontaneous child she was before, particularly not after the events of her First Year. The current predicament, however, three years later, recalled her unpleasant memories again, though she knew the feeling was transient. For others, she acknowledged ruefully, the ambivalence of emotions would undoubtedly inundate them, and she was referring to one particular person.

Indeed, Sirius's death was evidently capricious.

Following this elusive notion, the sun had adopted a dreary presence, permitting feigned enthusiasm to guide its rays. One might conclude that a dementor's residence had overwhelmed the depraved soul; the skies wept with unsuppressed tears, and the obstinate particles disseminated throughout nature resolutely refused to alternate into anything extravagant. Instead, they encouraged a funeral for the dismal scene.

But a funeral for what? Without a body, a funeral was futile.

Exhaling sharply, Ginny recommenced her pace with travail apparent in her slouching. She contemplated her dilemma whilst trudging over hard, solid clouds as she wandered aimlessly through the vacant corridors. Both students and teachers were occupied in their respectful classes, and Ginny, despite her live and extroverted self, felt exceptionally aloof at the thought.

Indeed, she affirmed the cause for her dilemma when she cornered a lengthy window. She had allowed her eyes to sweep about the outdoors, her features rippling with indifference when her eyes had encountered an intriguing sight. She retracted abruptly as she caught sight of a reclusive figure, and she nearly snorted; honestly, Harry Potter was boding to be her downfall.

Adhering to her taciturn vulnerability, she astutely scrutinized his lone figure, debating whether to accompany him, but she wasn't naïve to the aspect that he preferred his own company when he was upset. She had never seen his guard falter.

Furrowing her flaming eyebrows resolutely, she collected her vigor and composed herself. After firmly affirming her position, she accompanied her chivalry through the corridors, past the steps, through the doors, and out to the dismal outdoors, and somehow, the deceptive wind collected the remnants of her courage as she stumbled on her timidity instead.

Clearly, her childhood haunted her; she was still the girl with her elbow in her butter-dish: the petite girl whose ruffled flaming hair had greeted the cordial Harry Potter, and, of course, as much as she had tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew her strength faltered significantly in his presence.

But even then, her determination surpassed any remnant of hesitance; she wouldn't allow him to mourn on his own, even if Ron and Hermione were better suited for this role than she.

Crossing her arms loosely over her ebony robes, Ginny tentatively approached the endearing specimen, and she internally cursed her weaknesses; honestly, they sounded so naïve at the moment. She attentively approached him, wary of startling him.

She noticed he was perched on an impressive boulder, his back slouched slightly as his eyes flickered about the lake. She couldn't quite distinguish his eyes, for she was behind him. He wasn't shaking, however, and Ginny's worry amplified as she endeavored to predict his reaction to her presence. Would he invite her or simply desert her?

Regardless, Ginny affirmed that she wasn't leaving.

As a result, she lowered herself onto the boulder beside him and felt her heart shred into atoms as she caught sight of shimmering tears descending down the contours of his features. Even then, Ginny confidently concluded that he hadn't noticed. She watched as he redundantly twirled an item in his hand, his eyes flickering about the lake. And Ginny, despite herself, reassured herself that he was alive by the motion of his hand and the occasional blinks followed by excess tears. Despite the situation, she marveled at the silence.

He was clearly in denial.

"Harry?" she whispered, tilting her head to meet his vacant gaze, but he didn't respond; in fact, his thoughts were his world now, and she repeated herself, pressing further. "Harry?"

Startled, Harry's eyes widened as he turned to identify the source to the sound, and strangely, he found he had company. Ginny waited for him to register her presence until Harry looked away, bashful when he finally acknowledged his tears and company. He hastily swiped his sleeve against his face and under his glasses to vanquish the tears. Swallowing, rather abstrusely, he heard the blatant tsk from his companion, but nonetheless, he didn't – or _couldn't _– respond, and Ginny seemed to understand.

Ginny, naturally – and rather reluctantly – diverted her eyes towards the lake as he composed himself, marveling how human he was: this was the first time she had witnessed him in a vulnerable state. Strange, how countless books and articles implicated how utterly invincible he was, because of a simple, indirect act, yet he laughed, cared, and smiled like others, like _humans_, and Ginny berated her childhood self for being amongst the naive.

Glancing surreptitiously towards her companion, she frowned visibly at the sight he was studying astutely. Narrowing her eyes in scrutiny, she noticed a gleam emerging from between his palms, and she exhaled sharply when she noticed a shimmer of red accompanied as well. Absentmindedly, without exaggerating her decision, she treaded over forbidden territory and clasped his forearm abruptly at the sight of the trail of blood on his finger.

"Harry," she reproved firmly. "You're bleeding." Harry merely offered his hand an indifferent glance before he shrugged in blasé. Exhaling a shaky breath, successfully composed, he then turned to study the lake with clear disinterest again.

He startled when he felt a soft pressure on his hand, and when he glanced questionably towards the accused, she appeared irritated as she successfully healed the wound with her wand. She resisted the urge to point directly at the owner of the cut instead, for his "altruism." A tiny vexatious voice, however, placated that she would never succumb the courage to, particularly not when she was absentmindedly stroking the callused texture, and she blushed fiercely when he responded with subtle pressure.

Nevertheless, she feigned indifference as she exhaled her hesitance. Adopting her personal persona, she adhered to his silent pleas as she distracted his attention – temporarily.

"You know," she began, struggling to adopt a humorous tone as she addressed his vacant gaze towards the enigmatic item she had yet to identify. "There are some that care whether you live or die," she watched pleasantly as his eyebrows furrowed in question, but he had yet to lift his head, "even if you might not."

She succeeded when he frowned and answered, with a slight bite in his tone. "It's just a scratch." Ginny nearly smiled when he rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

But he still wouldn't look towards her.

"Yeah?" Ginny asked, relatively astonished by his indifference; she supposed it was a result of not having a persistent mother or simply because he was immune to the neglect. "Next you'd get your chest split open, but you'd still call that a scratch, wouldn't you?"

She didn't flinch when he straightened up, and with the furrow visible across his eyebrow, he resembled his usual self: just Harry, despite the flare of his temper. And Ginny, unlike most, could accept that particular aspect from him, mainly because she could flare a reaction, which was her main goal and accomplishment for the day. But at last, he had shed his uncharacteristically vacant look; now he bore a blazing countenance.

"Of course," he snapped in frustration, his emotions overwhelming as they endeavored to settle into a peace treaty. "Isn't it better than having to die because your godson made a stupid decision? No, I couldn't die ― not like _Sirius_!" He spat in emphasize, and Ginny, despite her successful attempt to prod him to voice his thoughts, finally acknowledged why others had trouble confronting him; he always seemed bitter, particularly towards himself.

But that error was extremely significant. Who would help him understand otherwise?

Ironically, and Ginny nearly snorted at the thought, he still hadn't removed his hand from hers, and when she reverted her gaze towards him, she found that he had snapped his head towards the lake again, absentmindedly fiddling with the item again. Although, she noticed rather fondly, his eyes were slightly downcast in guilt.

Merlin, why had she accepted Dean's request?

She disentangled their hands in response, not impervious to his surreptitious glance towards her. She then reached towards his fingers and halted his exacerbating movements. "I don't think Sirius would have it any other way." She stated firmly, her gaze unwavering.

Harry appraised her honesty for a moment before he exhaled dejectedly, and Ginny, after supposing that her heart would encounter a limit eventually, contradicted the notion firmly when she caught sight of his unshed tears, and she smiled shakily in response to his dubious countenance. She allowed him a moment of thought, for she knew of his perpetual habit: he always had to mull over the thought before he, himself, confirmed its worth.

She couldn't resist taking advantage of his absentmindedness. Indeed, as his thoughts overwhelmed him, Ginny cast discreet glances towards him. She relished in their close vicinity, a rare feat for the two. She observed him quite fastidiously: she enjoyed the way the sharp black locks splashed over his eyes, a stark contrast to the bright green. She observed the way his lips pouted when he frowned. She watched how easily distracted he seemed when his thoughts would unexpectedly greet him – rather mischievously.

Regardless, she endeavored to spot a disdainful trait.

And as she permitted a serene moment to breeze past, she startled when she encountered a sharp edge whilst fiddling with his hand. She was merely taking advantage of the fact that he had permitted the contact, but when she encountered this predicament, she frowned and leaned forward to spot the predator.

What greeted her eyes bewildered the girl, and she glanced questionably towards the impervious Harry but he was frowning towards the lake. He blinked when he felt a slight pull in his hand, and he glanced down to find his palm vacant of company. Frowning, he glanced towards his companion, and indeed, he found the inquisitive specimen thoroughly investigating the enigmatic piece.

He nearly chuckled when she jerked her hand questionably.

Nearly.

"It's a mirror." Ginny stated succinctly, frowning at the shard piece as she inspected it. Harry, despite himself, allowed her a moment to mull it over before he intervened, clarifying the confusion. When she caught sight of Harry's amused – yet weary – look, she attempted to glare, but internally, she felt vulnerably relieved, and quite smug. "Well?"

"Well, it _is _a mirror," Harry affirmed obviously, stowing dismal thoughts of Sirius away temporarily; he glanced at her knowingly when she placed her hands on hips in exasperation, and at the sight, Harry managed a weak smile. "Just not the mirror you'd expect."

"That's helpful," she muttered sarcastically, and Harry shook his head in amused exasperation as he snatched the mirror from her fingers. He then adjusted himself to face her while outstretching his palm in attempt to emphasize his point; Ginny, meanwhile, craned her neck to eye the mirror; she felt as if she was in her Divination's class again.

Though, she wouldn't mind the subject at all if he was the teacher.

"It's a two-way mirror," he said softly, gesturing towards the mirror as he emphasized his point. "You talk to the person who's got the other mirror through this. Neat, isn't it?" he smiled at the apparent interest gracing her countenance. "Sirius gave it to me," he sighed deeply at the thought, and Ginny glanced warily towards him, but he turned away to adopt his previous position. "I s'pose he thought I'd use it, but . . ." his words trailed along the wind, and so did he apparently.

"You never got the chance," Ginny finished, abstractly concluding the thought. He shook his head in affirmation and resumed his position as the headmaster of misery. She sighed dejectedly, feeling his contagious despair seep out of him, withdrew her hand – rather reluctantly – perched her legs on the boulder, and wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin on the surface.

Her words had exhausted.

"Madam Pomfrey let you off early, then?" startled, Ginny snapped her head towards the voice; in midst of her thoughts, she locked eyes with sharp emerald green and nearly flinched at his concerned gaze. "You didn't go around behind her back, did you?" He narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Ginny, despite herself, chuckled.

She shook her head, and quite fondly, she smiled at his look of relief.

"Now why would I do that?" she hummed in feigned astonishment; she pierced him with a pointed stare as she continued, tilting her head mischievously. "I don't go around breaking rules, _Harry_."

He snorted, but Ginny, quite smugly, noticed a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

"Wouldn't put it past you."

She ignored his comment. "But really, though," she glanced at her ankle and massaged the lingering bruise rather self-consciously; she glanced towards him only to find him watching her with a curious, yet concerned look, a look reminiscent to when he had timidly reached for hand in the Chamber of Secrets; he had been only a boy then, but now, he was hastily approaching his next, most significant, stage. "It's only my ankle. Honestly, Ron and Hermione have it much worse, mind you." She shook her head absentmindedly and nearly cursed when she caught sight of his guilty look.

"A – are they. . .," Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts; he forced himself to meet her eyes as he abstrusely voiced his worries, "Are they alright?" He said anxiously, wary of the answer.

Ginny, aware of his worries, decided to allow him some autonomy as she shrugged in feigned indifference. "Ron's getting better, but Hermione had it harder than the rest of us, but I wouldn't worry. Nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't handle," gathering her courage, she shot him an accusing look, "But are _you _alright?"

He shrugged in blasé. "Never better," he said sarcastically, and Ginny huffed in annoyance before she reluctantly relented; she guessed there were some things that couldn't be helped.

And Harry Potter couldn't be helped.

Eliciting an exasperated sigh, Ginny untangled herself, placed a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment before standing up, stretching and yawning. When she finished, she glanced down at her companion, only to find that he had reverted his attention to the mirror in his hand, his eyes dismally downcast. Ginny, cursing her weak heart, was flooded with a foreign turmoil of emotions. She desperately wanted to repair the damage to his being, but there was only little she could do.

She knew he would never be the same.

"Are you staying here, or. . .?" Ginny interposed, pleased that he had snapped out of his dismal thoughts. She watched as he blinked before snapping his head up. "Or are you going back to the castle?" She watched critically as he adjusted his glasses, the corner of his eye crinkled with thought.

Then, much to Ginny's dismay, he shook his head – refusing.

He averted his gaze away, his body wilting wearily. "I think I'll just ―" he breathed deeply. "Stay here." He finished softly, not meeting the girl's meticulous gaze.

Ginny inwardly sighed. She reached forward to grab his hands – rather feverishly, in her desperation. "Get better soon, Harry." And miraculously, he smiled, albeit a small, somewhat timidly. She smiled mutually as he nodded in response.

She then stood up, with the intention to return to the castle when she was halted abruptly when he piped up unexpectedly. "Where are you going?" Ginny attempted to convince her hallucination. Had he really sounded – disappointed? She whirled around, her hair splashing on her right shoulder as she faced him. Quite surprisingly, he had straightened into a pose reminiscent to the old Harry, and with his frowning countenance, Ginny could have sworn that Sirius had not died at all.

She was tempted to return to her former position and cower in guilt for leaving him.

But alas, she was still Ginny Weasley.

"Madam Pomfrey reckoned I could do with a bit of rest," she said, inadvertently gesturing in defense, as if convincing him of her innocence. "I could do with a bit of refreshment before next morning." She watched disappointedly as he nodded in response. She hoped he would urge her to stay.

'_Fallen idealist_,' A vexatious voice muttered, and Ginny nearly elicited a stream of curses in response.

But damn, if only she could conjure the audacity, she would whirl around and tease him endlessly at the rare sound of disappointment; she marveled at the development of their relationship. She could swear he had never expressed anything but indifference years before. Now, however, the faint sound of disappointment towards her departure was enough to motivate Ginny to merrily skip around the corridors (not that she would). But as usual, she bottled childhood self into a bottle with no oxygen and smiled towards his direction.

"Right," he smiled rather reluctantly. He breathed deeply as she turned away; she had inferred the conclusion to their conversation until Harry's next statement cut through her very pride, and she froze in response. "Thanks for everything, Ginny."

Ginny groaned to herself. Merlin, why had she accepted Dean's request?

Casting a slight glance towards the criminal who had stolen her heart, she smiled weakly, and her flight-or-fight response engaged in flight, and Merlin, she fled the grounds. Rather guiltily, she thought she would succumb to a death like Sirius's. Her heart would certainly overwhelm her with feelings for the cordial Harry Potter.

Indeed, death to her besotted heart.

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><p>And I don't know how it gets better than this,<p>

You take my hand and drag me head-first fearless

And I don't know why but with you I'd dance,

In a storm, in my best dress . . .

~ Fearless

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><p><strong>AN: **Hello again. Have we met? Anyway, dis is just a dismal scene after the horrific, absolutely heartless, death of the loving Sirius Black (RIP). I've had this scene in my head for _forever_, and unfortunately, I've been the slothful wittle bunny hiding in my wabbit hole.

Anyway, I just wanted to point out my major intention for writing this: did yeh notice how little physical contact happened between Harry and Ginny? Yeah, I just wanted to emphasize that Harry and Ginny are not the affectionate, lovey-dovey idiots that some (not all) fanfic writers make them out to be. They're strong, compassionate, and completely independent. Harry does not fall to his knees and confess his love like damn Romeo, nor does Ginny purely center herself around ONLY Harry. She has her life, he has his. They thoroughly understand one another, and they don't need to hug or "ravish" each other to prove that. Honestly people, open a book.

And another irk of mine is (oh, God): Harry does **NOT **sob! He doesn't. Period. Leave it. Stop doing it, please. He's not the type. It's not about weakness, he just doesn't do it. Read the book, and I promise he doesn't sob, so **stop** making him this hopeless crier. He - rarely - cries - and - NEVER - sobs. I dunno if it's because of his skewed life with Dursleys but he **doesn't** do it. I was trying to point that out in this one-shot, but I'm just adding this here just in case.

People, I implore: stick to cannon. This is JK's story, not yours.

Sorry for my rant.

And **review**.


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